


Sticks and Stones

by Mazanica



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Bullying, Depression, No names are ever mentioned but the main character is kind of obvious, Suicide, Warning character death, angsty af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:32:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazanica/pseuds/Mazanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” Well, I’d rather have been smashed with stones than hear ten years’ worth of hate every day. I think it would have hurt less. At least then I could have tried to mend the scars, but when the scars are on your very mind and soul it’s hard to even realize they’re there. Not until it’s too late, anyway."</p>
<p>Sticks and stones may break their bones but words do all the damage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks and Stones

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I was in a super angsty mood and needed to do something to get the bad feelings out. So yeah.

_ Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. _

Those words echoed through his mind as he walked alone along the lakeside. He could still hear the laughter behind him, hear the taunting words still being shouted at him as he left the other eight year olds behind. His heart beat painfully in his chest and his eyes stung, but he refused to let them see just how badly he was hurting.

He just kept telling himself that they were just words. Words couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them, no matter how mean they were. No matter how much they made him cry.

_ Sticks and stones may break my bones but words still leave a mark. _

He ignored the snickering of thirteen year olds behind him, instead focusing on the teacher at the front of the classroom and writing down his notes. He couldn’t get another failing grade or else the school would get in touch with his parents, and they would be  _ pissed _ if they had to come talk to teachers.

“He’s so stupid, did you see his grade?”

“Yeah, if I came home with a grade like that I’d be flayed!”

“He must have it so easy. Such  _ doting _ parents.”

The words were whispered just loud enough for him to hear and his grip on his pen tightened. He only wished they were true. His parents didn’t lecture him on his bad grades because they didn’t ask. They didn’t care. They were too busy having parties with their friends and pretending they didn’t even have a child at all.

“Maybe they just don’t care. If  _ my _ future son looks like that I’ll probably just drop him off a cliff to end his misery. He looks like a freak.”

And for the first time, as he heard the giggling around him, he didn’t disagree.

_ Sticks and stones may break my bones but words do scar my mind. _

He stared in the mirror, hating what he saw. His green eyes were dull, his once-bright gold fur looking somehow…  _ grey _ . He was only fifteen. He shouldn’t have looked or felt so old.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, thinking about what had brought him into the public restroom in the first place. He was still wearing his uniform but he paid that no mind; instead he focused on the words running through his mind. The conversation between classmates that he had overheard.

“Oh wow,  _ he _ works here?”

“Should have guessed, this  _ is _ the kind of place ugly people like him would work. In their rightful place, serving  _ us. _ ”

“Yeah, that’s all he’s good for anyway, huh?”

“Such a freak. He is  _ so  _ not getting a tip.”

“Ha, sure he is! Here’s the tip- _ drop dead _ !”

The laughter rang in his ears. He had reacted calmly to overhearing the words, despite the worried look his coworker had given him. He just smiled at her and said  _ sticks and stones. _ Of course she had taken it to mean the old saying as anyone else would have and returned his smile before returning to work.

To him, though, their words felt  _ like  _ sticks and stones. After they had left and he was free to go on break, he excused himself and stepped into the bathroom. It was thankfully empty.

He stared in the mirror, realizing that he had become a perfect stranger to himself. Dull eyes, dull fur, soft and resigned frown, too thin, too gaunt… 

He was no longer the rabbit he used to be. His mind reflected his body; scarred and broken.

_ Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never fade. _

The final bell of the day rang and he slowly stood up, dull eyes staring at the whiteboard. The teacher filed out after the other students, not even glancing at him as he just stood there.

“Senior year and he’s still just sitting there doing nothing, not even taking notes.”

“He looked like he was gonna cry like a big baby. Needs to man up.”

“I think it’s far too late for that! Little pussy shouldn’t…”

The words faded as he stood in the empty classroom, listening to the footsteps as everyone he ever knew and hated walked away, heading home or going to meet up with their friends.

But that wasn’t true. There was only one person he hated and that was himself. 

Slowly, he picked his bag up and walked to the front of the room; the bag felt like lead on his shoulder, as if reminding him of the items inside.

There were only three items in his bag; he didn’t even bring his notebook today. There was no point. There were only a few weeks of school left and he was failing every single class. There was no way he would graduate. He was stuck.

Only three items in his bag. A note, a picture, and a knife.

They were all he needed now, and as he reached for the red marker on the board’s rack, he barely glanced at the blood-matted and scar-parted fur peeking out from under his sweater’s sleeve. Those didn’t matter either. He picked the red marker up before pausing, his gaze going to the bright green marker that his eyes had once matched at one point in his life.

After a few seconds, he dropped the red marker and picked up the green. Then he turned back to the board and wrote down thirteen simple, final words.

* * *

When it was announced, shocked silence fell over the students. That empty seat seemed to glare at them all and the words on the board mocked them with its bright, happy green colour. It was in direct contrast with its words and with the news that had just been delivered.

“He was found by his mother this morning. Out of respect I won’t give the details, but his parents have given permission for the letter to be read to you, his… former classmates.”

The teacher at the front of the room picked up a folded, crumpled sheet of paper off of his desk. No one made any sound, whether out of respect or shock they weren’t sure. Instead they kept their eyes trained on the adult and the words behind him. Their teacher quietly unfolded the note, his expression somber and unchanging even as he began reading aloud his student’s final words.

““Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” That’s what they always tell kids, isn’t it? The “ignore the mean words” saying, the “it only hurts when it’s physical” story. Well, I’d rather have been smashed with stones than hear ten years’ worth of hate every day. I think it would have hurt less. At least then I could have tried to mend the scars, but when the scars are on your very mind and soul it’s hard to even realize they’re there. Not until it’s too late, anyway.

“I never did have any delusions about my own worth. My classmates made sure of that. My parents made sure of that. Most of all,  _ I  _ made sure of that.

“I wasn’t good enough to be a friend so they left, and I wasn’t good enough to be a son so they didn’t care. I thought I could be good enough to be a student but I was wrong. I wasn’t even good enough to be me. At the end of the day I guess all of you were right; I am nothing and I should make that true in all respects. My body matched my mind- or is it my mind matched my body? I can’t even remember now. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m a perfect stranger to myself. The blade doesn’t even help anymore.

“I’m sorry. It’s no one’s fault but my own. I know I’m being selfish. Being a baby. Being whatever you’ll call me. A coward? Maybe I am. But I want to be happy for once. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be happy. It just so happens that to be happy I have to die.

“At least you can be happy now, too.””

That was the end of it. No signature, no “I love you mom and dad,” no blame game, nothing to indicate that he even  _ wanted  _ to be saved. 

But as their eyes settled on those bright green words on the board, they realized that he  _ did _ want to be saved. He never wanted to let it get that far. They had pushed him to those lengths.

He didn’t have to die, but they had given him no other escape. Years of words, words most of them hadn’t even truly meant, built on top of each other and weighed their classmate down, steadily getting heavier and heavier until he couldn’t hold the weight anymore. 

They had crushed their classmate’s soul. 

They might as well have swung the killing blow themselves. Those who spoke the words, those who laughed at the words, and even those who had rolled their eyes and turned away from the words in silent disgust. All of them were to blame and they  _ knew  _ they were. Any of them could have changed  _ one _ thing and maybe gotten a different outcome. No one had to die.

“No one should have to die to be happy.”

They didn’t know who said it. They didn’t know who said it and they didn’t look around to find out. It was an accusation towards them, towards the voice’s owner themselves, an accusation towards the world and society and everyone. It was one none of them could deny.

Although the letter had no accusation in it, the words on the board written in green, a green that had once matched the writer’s eyes- eyes that would never watch them from across the room again, eyes that would never  _ open _ again- screamed the truth at them. Told them exactly what was to blame. Who was to blame.

_ Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will surely kill me. _

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, I have actually been considering doing a story where someone has a chance to go back and save a classmate who committed suicide. Not sure if I'd branch that off of this oneshot, though. Maybe I'll just stick with the unhappy ending here.


End file.
